


An Investment In Intoxication

by billiero666



Category: Green Day
Genre: Alcohol, Lushotology, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiero666/pseuds/billiero666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reverend Strychnine Twitch reminds Mike of what it means to be a Lushotologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Investment In Intoxication

We're walking home from the bar hand in hand. It's a cool night out, perfect weather for the plaid jacket he's always loved. I smile. He's like a child in his attachment to certain items, that surprisingly clean jacket, those white sunglasses, even the necklace I have never seen him take off, even when the rest of his clothing is shed. He looks over at me, eyes hidden behind his round, white sunglasses, and smiles, maybe because I'm smiling, or maybe he's got something else in mind. We round a corner into an alley I haven't been in and his grin widens. Something else is planned, definitely. He doesn't let go of my hand until both of his are in my hair and his lips are on mine and my hands are on his chest, grabbing gently at the necklace, pulling him against me. I never think about it, but he's a good five inches shorter than me. He's on his toes pushing me against the alleyway wall, knocking over a trashcan as he does so. I laugh against his mouth, making him kiss me harder, slide his hands up my shirt, trace back down my spine, hitting every vertebrae, causing me to shiver. I break the kiss and move my lips to his ear.  
"Not here," I whisper. He responds by kissing me fiercely one last time then pulling me next to him, wrapping his arm around my waist. This makes me smile again. He always has to be touching me in some way or another, not in a possessive way, just in a way that makes it seem like he never wants to part. I drape my own arm across his shoulders and imagine we're as traditional a couple as we look. The Reverend and his bassist, largely protested but thoroughly invested in each other, enough so that those people don't matter. I shiver as I remember countless times a concerned mother, father, grandmother, whatever has walked up to us after a show or in the street and told us that we made their kid gay, that we're a bad influence on the world, that we should have stuck to the girls we so often sang about, that we're going to hell, worst, that we're an abomination and if they had the power to kill us they would do so. I always got mad, but the Reverend always told me to stay calm. He must've noticed my sudden tension.  
"What are you thinking of, babydoll?" he asks. I sigh.  
"Just... people hate us. Why do they hate us?" Now it's his turn to sigh.  
"Because they'll never be as cute as you," he says, and smiles, and I smile, and laugh, then fall again.  
"No, really, why?" I want to know his take on it.  
"Sweetheart, I honestly don't know, but what I do know is you need some cheering up, and I know just how to do it." He grins that huge, wild grin again, and we keep walking.  
"But-" He cuts me off, cuts me up, cuts me some slack.  
"No buts. Just stand back and let me work this one." We've magically arrived at the door of our house, a small yellow number we used to share with Tré before the Reverend and I coupled up and he grew uncomfortable being in a house with us. He holds the door for me like he always does and we walk in. I slip off my shoes and he goes into the kitchen, presumably to grab us a beer, even though we just came from a bar. He comes back in as I suspected, a beer in each hand, and hands one to me before sitting me down on the couch and opening his own, taking a large gulp before putting his hand on my upper thigh.  
"You know what I'm a Reverend of?" I take a drink of my beer before answering his question.  
'"Lushotology." He smiles and nods.  
"And Lushotology's primal law?"  
"Less guilt, more booze," I recite.  
"There you go, sweetcheeks. Now drink up." I do as I'm told. I can already feel the edge being taken off when he grabs my hand in his and leads me up the stairs, taking me into the bedroom.  
It’s a small room with a fairly large bed, the covers rumpled because we agree that making the bed is a useless endeavor. Now we set our drinks on the nightstand and he kisses me again, hard, pushing me down. He’s not usually this forceful, and in pushing me, he also knocks over one or both of the beers, I don’t know. I move to pick it up but he pushes me back down.  
“Later,” he whispers. And then he’s kissing me again and it doesn’t matter, all that matters is my hands on the Reverend and the Reverend’s hands on me. He told me the first time he kissed me that it would be a religious experience, and he was not wrong. Everything melts away as he does it again, runs his fingers up my spine, making me shiver again. He sits up for a moment, sheds his jacket, his shirt, exposing his small, inked body.   
“You know what, Dirnt?” I remove his sunglasses before responding, looking deep into his green eyes. He begins to work the buttons on my shirt. We are a mess of sweat and limbs and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol.  
“What?” I ask, and his eyes sparkle.  
“I,” he says, undoing a button with each word, “Love. You.” He now completely removes my shirt. It always surprises me how such a small man can be so... dominant. He now bends down and kisses me, not giving me time to respond, not that I’m complaining. I run my hands down his sides and rest them on his hips, nearly touching my own in the process. We are that close. I pull back for a moment and he looks me right in the eye.  
“Twitchy,” I say, “I think I love you too.” He puts on a look of mock astonishment and puts his lips right to my ear.  
“You think?” he says. His voice has become a low, seductive growl. I nod against his lips.  
“I think we’re gonna have to fix that, cupcake,” he tells me. He lifts off his rosary necklace and places it around my own neck.  
“And so your saving begins.”  
***  
Now we are under the messy covers, my head on his chest, curled up into him, one of his arms around me along with the necklace I had never seen him take off save to make sure I loved him. And I do. Right now, there is nothing to compare to how much I love him.   
I look up, his eyes are closed.  
“Twitchy?” I say, using my only nickname for him in a sea of his own. His eyes flick open, sparkle at the sight of me.  
“Yeah?” I’ve decided to tell him an observation I’ve been working on since the first night like this.  
“You smell like smoke and alcohol,” I say, and the sparkle’s gone.  
“What?” He’s always so much more calm afterwards, he one time he breaks from his charismatic stage face.  
“They’re both poisons.” Before I can finish, he start talking.  
“You smoke and drink, too, you know, and you can’t ask me to-” I put one finger up to his lips, the same ones that had so recently been everywhere on me.  
“Shh. Let me finish.” And he does, green eyes shining a more gold color with curiosity, worry, even a hint of fear.  
“You smell like smoke and alcohol, both of which are poisons. But they’ve done their job. I am intoxicated by you.” This makes him smile, and him smiling makes me smile. I curl my head back down, curl back into him, my Reverend of cigarettes and booze, and for once in our lives, all is well.


End file.
